Watching Dragons
by Hell's Fiery Belle
Summary: Years before, a younger Village Elder had her own experience with dragons.
1. Spring

It smelled like spring.

Things had smells. Each smell varied. The scent of the world was presently spring.

The girl breathed it in. Such a word. Spring. With such a smell. After months of ice and snow that chilled the very breath spring was intoxicating, wine she could gulp down until her mind spun and her body relaxed into a stupor.

She opened her eyes. She was met by green. Constant green, perfect green, green everywhere. Spring green for spring was green. Leaves, grass, even the water. She took another breath. Her belly filled with air. She held it for a moment, then slowly released it. No on getting drunk on spring air. The spring already pulled her mind and soul; if she went any deeper, she would be lost.

A silly fear that deserved a laugh, one that broke her from the concentration. Someone descending so deep into the other world they were lost forever. Though one couldn't deny legends existed. She had been warned about it, at least, and a warning was nothing to shrug off. Especially a warning from someone like Vomitia.

Vomitia had died exactly three springs ago.

One should never underestimate the power of three. Things good and evil came in threes. There was never anything between.

The girl laughed again. Already she had lost focus. Why had she come out here in the first place? To commemorate Vomitia's death? To descend into nature magic she could barely navigate because her mentor's heart had given out three years before? To see just how stupid she could be with nature magic?

No matter, either way. Her focus had wavered, laughter had brought her out so that the waving mass of green before began to resemble real things. Reality. Boring, mundane reality, the kind only the rest of the island's brutes could handle.

She breathed in again. No hate, no bitterness, no matter how mad they all drove her. Focus on one thing. Focus. Lose yourself. Everything Vomitia had taught her.

Her body tingled. She hated that, the sensation of blood, muscles ready to tense again, the jerk back from that other world her mind liked to touch. She was back in the real world; specifically, the little gorge a mile past Raven Point where the water collected into a perfect pool and the animals felt the need to mate.

And it was green. How perfect that word was, just as wonderful as the word spring. The color darkened with the setting sun.

Her breath drew short. How long had she sat by the pool? She sprung to her feet, skirt catching under her boots. She tumbled into the grass with an unattractive "oof".

So much for the grace a wise woman was supposed to possess. She could lose herself for an entire day, not moving a muscle, and as a reward those muscles betrayed her every chance they had. That, or she could accept the description of clumsy. Petite, short, and clumsy. That was her.

The girl clambered through the rocks, silently cursing herself for coming out so far and dawdling for long. Even then she wanted nothing more to linger, touch every cool crevice of each boulder, take in every sight and sign of spring.

Vomitia had always said magic was renewed after the long winter. Spring was lousy with it. Growing, life, birth, it was all there.

But she couldn't. She was to be back in Berk by nightfall. Everyone was to be there. An overly cautious rule, perhaps, but one that had been in stern effect ever since that man had been torn to pieces by a Deadly Nadder fourteen years before. Safety was in numbers, and those safe numbers were in the boundaries of the village where one could count on a meathead capable of operating a catapult to handle a dire dragon incident.

At least she wasn't the only one to be late. She burst from the woods above the village to see teenagers sprinting across the fields and from the docks to their homes, and even a few men anxiously trying to herd their sheep before it was too dark. Daylight grew with each spring day, but already the sun was but a thin burning line on the horizon with its shadows spilt over the ocean like tar from which that sun burned.

Dragons loved night. Like everyone else in Berk, she spent a moment each evening wondering if this would be a night for dragons to make their move. The village couldn't go too long without an attack. It wasn't natural. It would have thrown everyone off their schedules.

She hated thinking such thoughts. They were dragons, they attacked, they stole food, they burned buildings. Was it such a huge thing to accept and move on? Still, her thumb rubbed the ring on her finger. She should have more reason to wonder and fear than most.

As clumsy as she was, she could run. She had always prided herself on that. Perhaps it was her small size. Perhaps the wind helped her. She could twist among the paths of the village with ease, dodging people a step within crashing. When she was younger she had made that into a game; now at eighteen years of age she was a little more mature.

She pushed open the door of her home. The warmth of the hearth was startling against the coolness of the spring night, and the light made it as if she were stepping from a dying fire into a growing one. She closed her eyes against the hearth heat. Fire. Warmth. Life. Protection. Never mind its ability to kill. Fire was tamable.

"Gothi," her mother said from her chair where she sat stitching. "You're home." There was no anger in her voice, just the quiet kindness accompanying acknowledgment.

Gothi nodded and sunk into a chair. Interesting-looking, twisted, very strong. Her father made furniture. He could make anything of wood, and his talent was an art form. He saw things in wood others did not see. Beauty. And the chair sat in the perfect circle of light from the fire. Light in darkness.

She laughed silently to herself. Maybe she hadn't broken from that trance. She still thought in pretty phrases.

"I'm sorry," she said to her mother. "I… I lost track of time. I didn't notice the sun."

Her mother nodded. Her blue eyes were focused on her stitching. "It's fine. Just be back before dark. You know the rules."

"Vomitia died three years ago." Gothi didn't know why she had to say it, but say it she did. A mere anniversary as an excuse to a woman who didn't mind what her crazy daughter did.

"I assumed as much." A log burst in the fire, and sparks crackled though the air. The effect was like fireflies. "It's a difficult day for you. You're entitled to a few difficult days."

Gothi sighed and pulled at her braids. She had returned to that girlish style months before. It seemed appropriate, and no one had commented, though the stares had not been few. "I have my difficult days. I have more than my share."

"You were her apprentice," her mother continued, as if her daughter had not spoken a word. "You were close to her. And then she died, leaving you—"

"Half-trained," Gothi finished dryly. It had been a loss, a tragic loss. Even the dumbest overmuscled idiot of Berk knew that. Wisdom of two centuries, gone with the last breath of a dying woman. There had even been something of an uproar, people panicking and begging neighbors for tips of remedies and wisdom that Gothi had always figured everyone should know.

"She meant to tell you more, you know. Her grandson said she had been compiling a book for you, everything she knew that she figured was worth passing on."

"I know, Mother." She had heard that story a hundred times. An unfinished book of rumor was useless to her. Had Vomitia really made such a thing? Why would she? Had she truly been expecting a heart attack? She had been elderly and sickly, but she was the village elder and should have made it a little longer in life because of silly idealism if nothing else. Pages of parchment had been found, jotted with notes of things interesting that Gothi had of course absorbed, but little else. Besides, the lore was practical, not meant for being trapped in a book. Common sense, most of it was. And then the magic.

Sometimes the thought of all that she had not learned was frustrating. No, the thought was always frustrating.

Prior to three years ago all had been well. She was the acolyte of the village elder, learning everything a wise woman should know, betrothed to a good, hardworking man.

Gothi watched her mother, who was absorbed into the beautifully simple task of putting needle and thread through cloth. Homemaking, gentleness, a necessity to daily life. She should be soothed by it.

But instead her temper was smoldering inside her. Vomitia had always warned her about that. Passions and emotions however wild were fine, but were to be kept in check.

The day had been good. She had been lost in that other world, happy, blissful.

But night had come. She was home in her parent's household, a young widow, and responsible for filling a village position for which she had not enough training.


	2. Dream

_So sorry for the delay!_

* * *

_Gothi dreamed._

_She knew it was a dream. She had always been skilled at knowing the difference between reality and the reality of the mind. So few others knew it, and they mocked it or became confused. Vomitia had told her it was a sign of a ready and alert mind. A reason Gothi had been chosen, taken under the wing of the village elder. Vomitia had spent morning after morning asking her about her dreams and always responded neutrally, yet eyes barely cloaking the fascination of another's dream world._

_It was a real dream. Nothing fantastic. Real dreams were trickier to keep one's self from. Real dreams absorbed. But even in the fire-lit skies of Berk Gothi could see the edges of the dream world, hazy and pale silver in the corner of her eye._

_She stood at the edge of a cliff, the village to her right. Some buildings were on fire, a common disaster in a dragon raid. She heard the shouts of the warriors, big tough men who existed only to keep the dragons away. Their voices were familiar and comforting. Protectors._

_Above were the dragons. Monstrous Nightmares, Hideous Zipplebacks, Timberjacks, Gronckles, Deadly Nadders, Skrills. In the distance was the blue flame of Night Furies. More dragons soared in the distance, yet to be caught in her gaze._

_The cliff was safest. No livestock came near the cliff. Gothi was safe where she was, had she not been dreaming. She vaguely wondered what would best be learned from this dream. So far it was dull. She had seen countless dragon raids. Aside from the sheer number of species there was nothing new. A dull dream, a mere cast-off of thoughts of the day._

_She turned from the cliff._

_The woods were on fire._

_The fire was the brightest orange she had ever seen. She froze in her turn, mesmerized by the flames. Beautiful. Deadly. Burn. Death. Life. Warmth. Fires were good, if the woods demanded them. Fire killed and restored. Fire protected._

_The dragons used fire as their weapon. It was how they protected themselves. Gothi could respect that._

_She continued to stare at the fire. No one else seemed to notice. In the village the battle against the dragons continued. The same fight of centuries. Tradition. She would go help, but she was too small to be of much use. She didn't mind._

_There was a figure in the forest fire. Gothi moved forward, recognizing the figure before her mind came up with a name._

_The figure was tall, broad, male._

_She burst into a run. Maybe this was a good dream._

_The fire didn't hurt. Dream fire couldn't hurt. It was impossible. It was only her mind. The dream world had no effect on her. She pushed through flames as if they were water. Trees snapped into ash as she brushed past them._

_The figure became more and more clear._

_She finally let herself speak the name. "Havarth."_

_He was no longer just a figure. He was there. Just how she remembered him. She fell against his chest and breathed in the scent of smoke and him as he wrapped his arms around her._

_"Gothi," he whispered._

_"I haven't dreamed about you in so long," she replied._

_"I was waiting for the right dream."_

_She took another deep breath and looked up at him. He was so much bigger than her. Such an odd betrothal. The village had all but mocked the arrangement. He was twice her age, twice her size, ridiculous all around._

_But he had been her husband. For a few precious months, he had been her husband._

_"I don't understand," she said. "Why the forest?"_

_"Look around."_

_She was in the little gully, next to the pool. "I was here earlier today. All day, in fact."_

_"I know." Havarth released her. "Not many people know about this place. It was originally Berk's drinking source, when the island was first settled, before wells were dug and the other springs found."_

_"I didn't know it was so old," Gothi said. She knelt down by the pool. No fire was here. The fire was gone. The gully was green._

_"I built a boat," Havarth said suddenly. "I don't know what has happened to it."_

_"In the dream?" she asked, looking back up at him. He was handsome. Even older than her, he was handsome. Auburn hair, brown eyes, scruffy and tangled beard, so much better than her dainty pale features._

_Havarth shook his head._

_She wanted to say something, that she didn't understand, but that didn't seem right. So she only nodded. "A boat."_

_"It was for you. You always liked the water."_

_She shrugged. That was true. She gently dipped her fingers into the pool. The water was as ice. She brought her fingers to her lips. Dream water. "Havarth, they never did kill the Monstrous Nightmare. The one that killed you."_

_She expected him to be angry or sorrowful. Instead his face did nothing. "I know."_

_The dream ended._

For what felt likes years Gothi lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. It was not quite time to get up, so what did it matter? She enjoyed the last pieces of night before dawn crept forth, and an owl hooted gently outside her window. Perhaps she should try to fall asleep again. The blanket was heavy and warm, and the hazy remains of the dream hung on her mind, drawing her back in even as it kept her alert.

It had been so long since she had dreamt of Havarth. She moved her hand to her chest, where her heart pounded. Perhaps it was healthy. She had not quite been seventeen when he had been killed in a dragon raid. She was eighteen now. Time had passed, and she was not the only dragon widow in Berk.

She rolled over to her side. She missed being a wife. Being a widow was so… unnatural. She felt dry and used up, old before her time. Widows should be older women, who had experienced time with their husbands, born children, perfected households. She was nothing, and no village boy or man had caught her eye.

Cold sense interrupted. Havarth was not the point of the dream.

She turned her eyes to the window, beyond which stars still twinkled. What mattered from the dream? Havarth? Or was he simply her own longing? What had not fit? The boat. The gully. The pool.

Gothi barely spoke to her mother during chores. Her mother didn't mind, merely minded her own business and hummed and whistled as she would. Gothi was otherwise pleasant and dutiful. She had been a fine housekeeper in Havarth's house, had taken care of meals and clothing and cleaning. It all came natural to her.

But as soon as she could she was out, blonde braids flying behind her. The day was overcast, the green of the world stronger for it. She all but flew through the village till a certain house was before her eyes. She knocked.

It was a time before the door opened, but Saliva eventually stood in the doorway. "Gothi!"

Gothi smiled and moved to hug her friend. The embrace was quick but warm.

"I haven't seen you in days!" Saliva continued happily as she pulled Gothi inside the house. "You've been so busy! And yesterday… three years." She frowned as she absent-mindedly twisted a strand of black hair.

"I know," Gothi said with a nod. "How did Cragulk handle it?"

"He was very close to his grandmother, you know. Did you want to speak to him? He's not here and I'm not a very good substitute for my husband…"

"No, no, that's fine." Gothi smiled warmly. "I'm sure you can help me. If there's anything to help me with. Did you or Cragulk find anything else of Vomitia's?"

Saliva gestured broadly at the room. "The woman hid stuff everywhere. I'm always finding things. It's rather exciting, I got to say. But that book she supposedly wrote? No. I think Cragulk's insane. I don't think it ever existed."

Gothi couldn't help but smirk. The very definition of Cragulk. A wonderful man, a good husband to Saliva, but as wild as his grandmother was wise. She studied the room, wondering why she had come here. She had one little dream and she had to come running to the old home of the woman who had always interpreted them for her.

"I feel so silly," she whispered with a giggle.

Saliva shrugged. "Don't look at me. I don't know why you're here if it's not to see me. Though I did find something the other day. Come."

She led Gothi to a shelf, one she immediately recognized as one of her father's. It looked like the shelf of any household in Berk, sturdy, filled with jars of food and various knickknacks. In this case one of the knickknacks was a little wooden ship.

"Sweet, isn't it?" Saliva said as she gently picked it up and handed it to Gothi. "I don't know if it was one of Vomitia's, but it's very nice. I tried to give it to my son but he just rolled his eyes at me. Ingamar prefers weapons. He's a dragon killer already."

"He's ten."

"I know, right?"

Gothi laughed and looked at the piece. It was a perfect child's toy, intricately carved with care. It looked a miniature of any ship of Berk's.

_I made a boat._ Havarth's words shot back through her mind, and she quickly pressed the ship back into Saliva's hand.

"Gothi?"

"I'm okay," Gothi breathed, putting a hand to her forehead. She felt dizzy all of a sudden. And stupid. Very stupid.

She was overreacting.

"I need to go," she continued, putting more sense into her expression. She could actually pass for normal. "Chores."

"Yes. I understand."

No, Saliva did not understand, because Saliva had fell like a dragon struck by a boulder for that line. Just as well.

Then again, what was Gothi thinking? She had dreams before. Why was this one so important? She was like a child. Vomitia would have mocked her for this. Even so, she made her way to the cliff. She half-expected to see dragons in the distance, but it was the same endless stretch of sea and the same gray expanse of clouds.

Gothi had often wondered where all the dragons flew from. Where did they go afterwards? No one else seemed to care. Everyone else were meathead Vikings who did their job of protecting the village and nothing else. Bless their hearts for their actions, but would it not be wiser to just nip the whole thing in the bud, so to speak?

Spring. Buds. Life. Birth. The words hit Gothi full-force. In the name of Thor, it had just been an expression! No killing buds.

No killing anything.

She sunk to her knees. What was wrong with her lately? She just felt so…

The flapping of leather wings crashed her thoughts as a shadow passed over her. Her breath caught in her throat.

Dragon.


End file.
